


Ten Steps Down

by tunacotton



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied Relationships, Post-Canon, Sort Of, agghhh idk stupid fic for stupid people, an exercise in car misery, at least its not a stroke, canon typical war crimes, idk just trying to be pretentious here, its like a roadtrip but worse, liminal spaces, more of a fever dream that ends in death, self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunacotton/pseuds/tunacotton
Summary: Megatron gave an annoyed hum.“Still keeping tabs on my health, I see. Ever the scientist.” He might’ve added ‘ever the traitor’. Might’ve, if he wanted five blue claws in his cheek.Starscream laughed. “Ever the scientist.”Their rhythmic footsteps filled the lull in the conversation.Ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down...It was strange that Starscream wasn’t trying to fill every second with some kind of insult or dumb personal antecdote. It was strange to be able to breathe in a room with him. Not that Megatron missed it, of course. That’d be ridiculous.…(In which IDW Megatron isn’t executed and instead lives out the rest of his life quietly.)This story specifically is meant to be a tour through his mind as it seizes up in his last minutes of life. He slowly loses control over his body and brain and those around him-- this deterioration seems to worry Starscream more than Megatron, however, because this is definitively his last chance at validation from an old friend.(this fic ALSO happens to be where I vent all of my pretentious energy,,,, take that as you will.)
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Ten Steps Down

**Author's Note:**

> ‘...an active man is pre-eminently a limited creature. That is my conviction of forty years. I am forty years old now, and you know forty years is a whole lifetime; you know it is extreme old age. To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral. Who does live beyond forty? Answer that, sincerely and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows. I tell all old men that to their face, all these venerable old men, all these silver-haired and reverend seniors! I tell the whole world that to its face! I have a right to say so, for I shall go on living to sixty myself. To seventy! To eighty! ... Stay, let me take breath …’
> 
> (Notes from Underground; Dostoevsky)
> 
> oh yeah babey thats right this is one of those fics that starts with a quote

The room was absolutely buzzing. White coats and pink stained hands-- doctors, nurses, children. Sometimes the warmth of their hands would come to him, the heat of their engines, as they brushed by to attend to the brick of a machine behind him. It heaved in its power, itching where its cables and tubes met incisions in Megatron’s arms. The room was hot with ozone, foggy in the way that it clogged up his thoughts so that he could never get a good look at any of the mechs passing by him. None of them seemed to want to look his way. 

Although they had no trouble touching his frame to adjust every little wire. Of course they didn’t. They were doctors, and doctors, of course, had the uncanny ability to disregard the idea of a person as a whole. They must work, after all.

Megatron had always sympathized with doctors. He’d thought himself a good doctor-- skilled hands, a good heart, a solid mind. Something about a conversation between him and a vaguely cat-shaped mech came to mind, but dissolved as quickly as it had surfaced. 

A solid mind, yes, he was sure of it. As for a solid body-- well, in literal terms, he supposed it was solid. But it never seemed to respond the way he wanted. All of them were slippery and clunky, more like a snail than a philosopher, poet, or dictator.

Even now, as cables were being plugged in and out of his frame he couldn’t seem to feel much. He was barely aware of the wreath of tubes that was spun from his collarbone to the back of his head. His neck cables were buzzing with fuzzy static in his ears as he tried to turn his head, nearly catching a glimpse of one of the doctor’s faces before they hurriedly placed their hands on his head and spun it stock forwards again.

A shrill beeping sounded as the temperature in the room climbed even higher, the mechs around him yelling and working in a blur of white and red and pink. That small movement left his body tired, as it ached and sputtered and sunk impossibly lower into the bed. It was dizzying, dizzying coming to the realization that he could no longer move his head. His bones softened as the machine behind him kicked, sending bursts of white hot energy through his frame. It began to track into his mind, and the muffled yells turned into deafening commands as Megatron’s hearing came back in full. It was as if a thunderbolt rang through his body. 

And then their hands left his frame. Cables and tubes and wires and miscellaneous tools hit the ground with a punch. The machine behind him was left chugging away as a few of the white coats around him threw their hands down and allowed themselves a breath. Dead tired, he assumed. 

Mind so much clearer, without so much heat as the doctors took turns taking off their gloves and stretching the cramps out of their hands. Slowly, as if a valve had been opened, they filed out of the room. Once he made certain that there were no more white coats to spin his head back forwards, he shifted himself up on the bed. The tubes around his neck and head snapped away as he pulled himself from the tiring machine, eyes greeted with the rest of the room he’d been in for so long. 

Blue and white tiles all around, a small kitchen area next to the door to his right, and 3 sparsely spaced fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. And an incessant dripping noise he couldn’t seem to get out of his ears.

Megatron stepped outside of the room for the first time in as long as he could remember. It was really, truly, one of the few times in his life where he’d felt light, grateful for the cool air on his tongue. All around him were the sick- mechs holding onto their IV poles as they shuffled to their rooms, nurses in their packety uniforms carting the old towards the elevators. A small part of him was mildly offended that not a single one of them looked up in awe as he thundered down the hall.

He made many left turns. And right turns. And then some more left ones. There were no elevators, no stairs, no signs to indicate lower or higher floors. He didn’t feel comfortable asking anyone for directions. The tile went on forever, the sick became denser the further he walked. They shuffled close to the walls, cast in blue shadows. 

“Are you lost?”

Megatron swallowed the urge to turn around immediately. He didn’t like the sound of that voice, of the weight of the footsteps that had trailed up behind him. They were light, sparse, and clacky. He’d know them anywhere.

And so Megatron began to walk again.

“No--” He quickened his pace to match that of before he’d been stopped. “--I’ve been in bed for a long time. I want to stretch my legs.”

The mech behind him caught up. “I can show you the way to the courtyard, it’s perfect out today.” 

That did sound nice-- broiled pavement and warm shadows and lush green trees. “I don’t mind it here, thank you.” 

“Well of course you don’t mind the  _ building _ , you mind the people.” He neared dangerously close to Megatron’s side. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone back and locked yourself in your room.”

Well, the building seemed to be an extension of the people. But Megatron didn’t feel like getting into that.

“Then it wouldn’t make much sense to walk in the courtyard either, there’d be just as many down there as there are up here.”

“No, no-- they don’t walk out in the courtyard, even if they could find the stairs and get down them, the sun would give them a headache and they’d have to come back up to their rooms.”

Megatron could no longer bite down the urge to turn around. 

“Why are you here?” He turned on his heel. “Last I remember, you didn’t say goodbye and wished that I died a horrible, painful death from ‘the agony of never being able to talk to you again.’”

He stilled. 

“Did I say that? Probably didn’t mean it, if that makes you feel better.” Starscream waved his hand dismissively. “--and will you watch where you’re going next time? You need, like, the little blinker things on Earth cars that flash red when they brake--”

Megatron put his hand up.

“My question, please? I don’t care what you think of my walking habits because you’re very clearly trying to stall the conversation.”

Starscream laughed. “You know me too well.”

Megatron turned to walk the other way. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was Starscream’s horrible voice, but standing there had begun to give him a headache. 

“No, no, wait! Don’t you want to leave?” He ran up to him. “I came here to discharge you, I went to your room but you had already left. It’s a miracle that I was able to find you.”

He ignored the insinuation that he had a passing resemblance to the sick around him.

“And what makes you think I’d believe that you’d come to take me  _ out _ of the hospital? I’m inclined to believe you’re the reason I’m here.”

Starscream didn’t appear to be listening to him very closely, instead looking over his shoulder to the courtyard below them.

“Yeah, uh, no, I wouldn’t do that.” He waved his hand again. “Come on, lemme show you the stairs.”

Greatly confused, Megatron was dragged forwards by his wrist, around the corner he’d just come from, to face a large steel door.

“I’m not going outside with you.” 

The stairwell was as yellow as it was old. It smelled very distinctly of lemon cleaner, and the lights buzzed like the hanging ones in Megatron’s room had. 

“Doesn’t this hospital have elevators?”

“Well, yes, but they’re used to cart the dead and dying between floors and they can have a certain smell about them because of it.” Starscream rounded the corner. “--so, in the interest of easy breathing, I thought we’d take the stairs.”

“Besides, you could do with a little cardio.”

Megatron gave an annoyed hum.

“Still keeping tabs on my health, I see. Ever the scientist.” He might’ve added ‘ever the traitor’. Might’ve, if he wanted five blue claws in his cheek. 

Starscream laughed. “Ever the scientist.”

Their rhythmic footsteps filled the lull in the conversation. 

Ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down, round the landing, ten steps down...

It was strange that Starscream wasn’t trying to fill every second with some kind of insult or dumb personal antecdote. It was strange to be able to breathe in a room with him. Not that Megatron missed the noise, of course. That’d be ridiculous. 

“You know this building intimately--- and both you and I know that it’s not because of your love for architecture.”

“Not architecture, no.” He looked over his shoulder and eyed Megatron. “I had an internship here, back when I was in school.”

“Hm?”

“I got stuck in the elevator once-- it was me and a couple of my classmates and a long stretcher with some old minicon on it. We were actually trying to avoid doing paperwork or whatever by carting the poor mech between floors, y’know, keeping our heads up and pretending like we had somewhere to be without ever actually leaving the elevator. I mean, that obviously backfired somewhere between the seventh and eighth floor when the elevator doors stopped working and we had to wait for like an hour for someone to pry them open.”

“An extra hour is an extra hour.”

“Yeah, but the minicon overheated from the stress of it all and let me tell you the  _ smell-- _ ” He laughed. “--I had a headache for the rest of the day and my plating stunk of ozone so bad that lye couldn’t even get rid of it. Lingered for, like, a month.”

Megatron hummed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that one.”

“Never asked.” He shrugged.

Starscream seemed quieter than he’d remembered. Much too casual, unlike his usual self. Not that Megatron really had an accurate picture of what that looked like, though-- it’d been a long time.    


Starscream backed into the swinging front doors of the building and opened them to the courtyard. It was strange that he’d seemed to make a point of keeping eye contact with Megatron for their entire conversation after they got out of the stairwell. 

The sun scattered in ribbons on the pavement. It was lined with red leafed trees and tall yellow grass and sweet smelling wild sunflowers. Other mechs walked circles around the grey fountain in the center-- walked straight and tall and confident circles. Circles that said ‘yes, it is nice to be among the living’.

And he supposed he agreed.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

“We don’t have to leave right now--” Megatron put his face to the sky and closed his eyes. “--traffic is probably bad.”

“Don’t worry, I know a shortcut.”

**Author's Note:**

> pee pee poo poo im not calling hands servos and feet pedes because this is already ridiculous enough as it is


End file.
